It’s Not OK To Let Your Dog Run Loose and You’re an Asshole If You Do

I have lots of feels tonight, people so you’re basically going to serve as my best-friend/therapist/sounding board/something. Just listen. Err…read. And if you’re feeling all TL:DR, you can get to the main point by clicking here. This is a rather long, ranty, gif filled post of awesome but I know some of you can’t handle all the words. It’s OK. Everyone has issues.

I’ve become a bit obsessed with the making and decorating of cookies. I have no doubt this is a passing obsession and I’ll probably move on to something else in a month, but, for right now it’s all cookies all the time. This means I have to make the royal icing to top said cookies. That means I must have at least a hand mixer since you can’t whip this stuff up all on your lonesome.

And then this happened:

Why is this relevant, you ask? Well, other than the fact that the crappy mixer dying blew in a major way, we went to Walmart tonight and Tucker bought me a $7 POS to get me through “until Christmas.” Me thinks that’s a subtle hint I’m getting a badass, gas powered hand mixer for Christmas. Or a team of elves to make my royal icing. Both? Cause that would rock.

And why is THAT relevant, you ask?

After we left Walmart, we drove through a neighborhood with a blinking sign outside of the subdivision that promised “BLINKING CHRISTMAS LIGHTS.”

As we were leaving, I spotted an itty bitty chihuahua in the gutter. I stopped my SUV and the little dude started coming toward us. Tucker gave me with this “WTF are you thinking?!” look and told me to drive.

And I did.

Tucker’s reasoning (which I totally understand so don’t hate) was we were in a nice neighborhood, there were people out and about and little dude had probably just wandered off. When we left him, I saw him daintily trotting into a yard full of blow-up Christmas kitsch and tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that at least he’d have the blowers and radiant heat of the MASSIVE OMG THEY WERE SO BIG Christmas lights to keep him warm.

But it’s cold, y’all. We put a quilted jacket thing on Sophie the Wonder Pit Bull before we let her spend any extended amount of time outside. She’s old. Don’t judge. But little dude? Not a stitch of canine pride eviscerating clothing. And he was shivering…though isn’t that a chihuahua thing?

All the way home I was vacillating between being pissed Tucker told me to leave and I listened to him to me agreeing with him to me silently begging him to tell me to turn around.

And then the dumb tears started working their way to the surface.

Which I found incredibly dumb since I’ve never met a nice chihuahua.

Each and every one of the little bastards has either growled a demonic growl complete with bared mini-fangs, tried to bite me or has tried to assassinate me. Oh yes, yes I do realize I’m painting an entire breed with a broad brush. Yes, yes I do realize there are (probably) very nice Chihuahuas inhabiting the Earth. Duh. We own Sophie the Wonder Pit Bull, remember? I might know a little something about people assuming bad things about our dog because of something they’ve heard or because of a bad experience with another pit bull.

But even Sophie the Wonder Pit Bull, with all of her 60+ pounds of stupid, is terrified of Chihuahuas. Sad but true, people. She was mauled by a (very mean) chihuahua when Sophie was about ten weeks old and she hasn’t been a fan ever since. If she sees one, her ears go flat on her head, her eyes get this weird slitted thing going on like a bad WWII American propaganda caricature of a Japanese person and she runs in the opposite direction.

Bringing little dude home definitely wouldn’t have made Sophie happy (NOT THAT I WOULD HAVE KEPT HIM!!!) and Tucker was definitely worried I was going to want to keep little dude (WHICH I WASN’T!!! Didn’t I prove that with Biscuit, people? Sheesh! I had forgotten how damn cute he was! Make sure you watch the video but don’t judge the intro and font. ) but all I could think about was:

Either way, little dog’s outlook wasn’t too bright.

We got home, I started heating up the oven for dinner and had to grab a tissue since the tears had started in earnest. Tucker hugged me, gave me a once over and told me to go get the dog.

I flew out of there faster than you can say, “Deuces!”

Welp, I drove all over that damn subdivision. Up and down the streets. Past the same houses over and over and over and over and you get the point. No little dude. After about 15 minutes, I was ready to give up.

OK. No, I really wasn’t.

What I really wanted to do was get out of my SUV and walk the streets while I quietly whistled for little dude so I could stuff him under my puffy jacket, take him home, tell Sophie the Wonder Pit Bull to deal with her issues and welcome her temporary brother while I run him a warm bath and then spread his picture all over social media so I could find his owners.

Worst case scenario? I had Mom’s Christmas present.

But, sadly without little dude, I decided to call it quits and started toward the exit. At least I thought it was the exit. It wasn’t. I couldn’t find the exit. I looked for that fucking exit for ten minutes. I’m kind of surprised no one called the cops. I mean, really? The same vehicle drives by your house twelve times at ~10mph, you get kinda freaked, right? I know I would. Not that I’m paranoid or anything. Nope.

Peoples, I’m talking the Hotel California of subdivisions but with less warm smell of colitas, mirrored ceilings and pink champagne on ice and more piped-in Christmas music and seizure inducing Christmas kitsch.

For. Eternity.

And then, right before I lost my mind completely, I saw a woman walking her dog. And here’s where the REALLY conflicted feels happen.

To catch you up: To this point right here, I was imagining a little dude as either a popsicle little dude or a flat little dude come morning. So, when the very nice lady and I have a short, very nice conversation about my quest and she tells me there is a house in the neighborhood with occupants who let their little dude roam around “all the time” and she and I both shake our heads all judgy like, I’m actually hiding this pushed down rage like you can’t even image.

Now look here, people. I get the “Dogs will be dogs and dogs want to roam,” thing.

My father’s mother is like a million years old and lives in the middle of 200-odd acres. She never had “inside” dogs; they were free to run around and come back when they felt like it. My father was a farmer. All of his dogs were treated the same way. Usually nothing too bad happened to them and they usually made it home in one piece. Growing up, I didn’t think that was especially cool but it was what I knew so I just let it go. That and they were big dogs that could take care of themselves.

But little dude is MAYBE the size of my shoe and, because of the Christmas lights, people aren’t watching the road. They have their faces plastered up to the windows of their vehicles so they can more fully experience the Christmas cheer. And did I mention it’s cold out tonight? And raining?

So now I’m conflicted again.

Do you have any idea how PISSED I would be if Sophie the Wonder Pit Bull got out of the house, heading to Mexico, and someone picked her up? I bet they would jump to the conclusion I jumped to and ask (in a very loud mental voice): What asshole dog owners would let a dog wander around in the cold and where the dog could get flattened?!

I finally found my way home, vented at Tucker, helped get the kids into bed, grabbed a beer and then started writing this discombobulated post.

My takeaway question for you is this:

Should dogs (of any breed/shape/size) be allowed to just roam around wherever their little doggie hearts take them?

And to think I planned on cleaning the trainwreck kitchen, reading a bit of vampire porn and then getting into bed before midnight.

To those of you who made it this far, you’re my heroes. To those of you who didn’t? Losers. Though I guess you aren’t reading this, huh? Still. Losers. All y’all.

Comments

No. First and foremost there is the issue of death, whether by the elements, cars, or attack. Second, unplanned mating. Seriously, some idiots let their in heat bitches wander, they get pregnant much to the owners surprise, and then the irresponsible owner has the audacity to blame someone else for their stupidity. Third, plausable attacks, either on or by your dog. As unthinkable as you may find it that your dog may attack someone, there can always be extenuating circumstances. Fourth, public nuisance. As impossible as it may seem, there are plenty of people who are scared of or just straight up hate dogs.
How did I end up here you may ask? Well, I was watching some old episodes of Doc Martin and Mrs Miller let her purebred show silky terrier wander as she pleased, expected Martin to do something about the interest of the dog that attached itself to Martin concerning her own dog, and blamed Martin for backing over her dog when she was the one irresponsible and dumb enough to let it wander. This made me somewhat angry.
My own dogs aren’t allowed out of the house without strict supervision due to our lack of fences. Even if we had fences they still wouldn’t be left outside unsupervised cause that’s just asking for someone to steal them or for them to get hit by a car and die.